


When Darkness Prevails

by juniper_r



Series: Eliott & Lucas One Shots [12]
Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Angst, Fear of dark, Lucas's childhood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-23 20:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19158706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juniper_r/pseuds/juniper_r
Summary: We all know Lucas is afraid of the dark, but we never think to ask why. This is that story.





	When Darkness Prevails

Lucas was only seven years young when it first happened, and ten when it happened the next time. His father's rough fingers gripped the back of his shirt and pushed him through the house, his feet pounding against the ground so hard Lucas could envision it cracking. The man stopped only when he arrived at their back door so he could open it, then throwing his son to the ground as if he weighed nothing more than a sack of feathers. His figure loomed over a very scared Lucas from the doorway, disappointment and fury shining in his eyes, the two emotions the boy dreaded most. 

"You do not go through my things without my permission ever again!" he boomed from above. Lucas rapidly nodded and wanted nothing more than to return to where it was warm and he had his mother.

"I'm sorry. Please. I want to go back ins-"

"I'll see you in the morning."

"Please! No!" The brunette scrambled to his feet and leapt to the door but it was too late, the cold metal lock inaccessible from his end without a key. 

Tears fell freely from his eyes as his chest and forearms slid down against the hard wood, his hands curling into fists that pounded on the door. 

"Let me in! You can't do this! You can't.."

Sobs wracked his frame and he couldn't speak, and as the remaining minutes of dusk faded into night, he couldn't see. His father had turned off the porch light and the neighbors' were too far away to be visible; his house being at the end of a long driveway far from the rest.

It was cold, and it was dark, but it wasn't quiet. His wails and cries nearly drowned away in the sea of cricket chirps and scary, ominous sounds that the night never ceased to bring to his backyard. He was terrified, being so young and unaware of his surroundings in a way he never had been before. His mother would never let such a thing happen, where was she? He didn't know, and at the time his mind was too distracted, zipping between a thousand bad situations at once, for him to care.

After a few minutes he couldn't feel his fingers very much, nor his toes, both being entirely exposed to the biting, rigid winter night. Breathing was hard, and each inhale brought upon a blast of ice to his throat. Only in movies had he seen people's teeth chattering but there he sat, his own pearly whites shaking between his chapped lips. 

But that wasn't the worst part. The worst part had been the darkness that loomed over and suffocated him like his father just had. It manipulated his brain into seeing things that weren't there, believing that _something_ could be lurking and waiting for him to make one wrong move. If he closed his eyes he wouldn't even be able to tell because there was such an immense lack of light. On that night, the clouds that covered the stars and moon shone no mercy on him.

He didn't get any sleep that night, and by morning, he was ill. His mother ran a bath and muttered sweet nothings into his wet hair. She apologized. It was okay, he said. No, it wasn't, she argued. Lucas was so exhausted and numb that he didn't realize his bath was scalding hot until his mother dipped a finger in and screamed. 

That evening, he dined on soup at a silent dinner table, the only sounds being his sniffles and weak coughs. His father never looked him or his mother in the eye and busied himself with reading the newspaper. Lucas asked if he could read it when he was finished. Only then did the man stare right at him before ripping the paper in four jumbled pieces.

Later, when the boy tip toed up the stairs he unplugged a hallway light and brought it to his bedroom. He thought he had done it subtly, he did, but subtly was no seven year old's strong suit. 

"What are you doing with that light?"

"I'm putting it in my room."

"Why's that?"

A pause. "I don't like the dark."

"You've had no problem with it before," his father mused, a hand on his hip and an unlit cigarette between his lips. "Give it back."

"No."

"No?"

Lucas gulped, and it only took one cold stare from his father for him to sheepishly hand it over. The tired, tall man didn't bat another glance before turning around and descending back down the stairs.

_Push him. Push him. Push him._

He almost did. A dark part of his mind wanted him to.

At eight thirty o'clock on the same day, his mother tucked him into bed and pecked a kiss to his cheek as she always did. This time, however, something special hid tucked away between her fingers. 

"What are you holding?" he asked, curious.

His mother smiled. "Something that never should have been taken from you."

He slept just fine that night.

Three years later at the age of ten something similar occurred, but this one angered him all the more. It started with a plea and ended with an absence that would affect him for eternity.

"Honey, you have to understand. God will find him," his mother's voice begged from behind the doorway Lucas's ear was pressed against. 

"Don't you _honey_ me, bitch!" 

"Do not call me that!"

A fast, crisp sound echoed around the walls of his parent's bedroom. The door jutted open and Lucas fell backwards before catching himself on the wall. His father fumed above him and–unable to control his rash, angry thinking–slammed his foot down on the boy's stomach, releasing a cry and a _crack_ from him. 

His mother rushed over and cocooned his head in her hands while his father stormed out the door. He didn't know at the time, but that would be the last time he saw him for several years, nor did he ever find out what it was they were arguing about. His throbbing rib and his mother's panicked voice was all he could focus on as his small frame slid down against the carpet.

His father made sure to turn off the light on his way out.

Nine years and ages of therapy later he was able to get past that event, but he still couldn't stand the dark, and it was not difficult for him to recognize why. One minute in darkness and he could hear those crickets chirp from his childhood home's backyard; two minutes and he could feel the icy wind nip at his skin. Three, and he could feel those two broken ribs pressing against organs they shouldn't be. 

His name is Lucas Lallemant, and this is his story.

**Author's Note:**

> It's been far too long since I've last written anything about my favorite boy on here, and even if this is a big sack of angst, I'm still pretty proud of it! Hope you all's hearts didn't break too much reading this. (Also, I hate to say it but even with that ending this will likely remain a one shot due to the other stories I've been working on.)
> 
> PS: Fuck, Skam might really be over dudes. I'll eternally be sad about that but the show was absolutely amazing in all of its seasons while it lasted. Just wanted to express my catastrophic desperation about it like everyone else is. ((,:


End file.
